Lake Washington Boat Party
by SeraphJewel
Summary: A collection of stories centered around the events of that fateful night on Lake Washington and how it changed lives forever.
1. Pearls before Undying

Disclaimer: I don't own the show or any of the characters. I just love it so much!

 **Lake Washington Boat Party**

 _Story One: Pearls before Undying_

Hunger… She never knew such hunger before in her life. It consumed her whole body and her thoughts were centered on her empty stomach. Sometimes she thought that food was close, that if she could only reach high enough she could grasp it. But though she stretched her hands up as high as she could, she never managed it. Her hands would drop and she felt nothing except the hunger.

There used to be more than this, didn't there? She could barely remember a time before the hunger; it felt like it had always consumed her. Yet there had to be something before this. What was it? She paced her small world and felt a strange beaded weight touching her skin. Her hand lifted and she curled her fingers around the object…

In all honesty, Marcy didn't expect Liv to come. The girl was overachieving to an almost inhuman degree and she had that gorgeous piece of arm candy ready to whisk her off. Yet to her surprise, she heard Liv call out her name. She stopped and waited for Liv to catch up with her.

"Hey," she greeted in pleasant surprise. "What changed your mind?"

"I decided a party on a boat might be fun."

"Glad to hear it." Marcy locked arms with Liv and started leading her to the docks. "You won't regret it."

As they got closer Marcy could hear the music pounding from loudspeakers. Closer still and she caught sight of other partygoers mingling on the boat, some whooping as they jumped off the edge into the water only to scramble back up and do it all over again. She turned to gauge Liv's reaction and saw that the other woman was taking everything in with a polite smile on her lips. Liv noticed Marcy staring and offered a wider smile.

"It looks great."

"Max Rager sure knows how to throw a party," Marcy agreed. The two climbed aboard together and headed for the refreshment table. Again Liv made a surprising move and accepted a cup of beer. Maybe she was taking Marcy's advice about loosening up seriously.

The two mingled with other hospital residents, who were all surprised to see Liv at a party. Marcy felt pretty proud of herself for bringing her out. She thought she would need to stick close to Liv, but the other woman proved herself fully capable of navigating the party on her own. Marcy told Liv she was going to check out the other end of the boat and Liv dismissed her with a friendly wave.

Marcy eventually ran into a group who, by her trained doctor's eye, were clearly riding the high of a drug. She saw them passing it around and drew a little closer to see what they were taking. It was tiny, barely bigger than her fingernail. Marcy dabbled in drugs before but never saw one like this.

"Hey, what is that stuff?" she asked one who was currently snorting it up their nose.

"It's called utopium!" they shouted back. "It's the best stuff in the world! Man, the music here is so _good_!" And with that they started dancing with another drugged partier. Marcy noticed that all the most active partiers were either taking or passing around utopium. Here she thought that energy was thanks to Max Rager.

"I have _got_ to try this stuff. Where can I get it?" They pointed her to the seller. When Marcy approached and asked for some, he surprised her with how cheap it was. Not like she was going to complain about it. Within minutes she had the drug shooting through her brain.

She lost track of time. She powered through a few Max Ragers and some more utopium. Some guy hit on her and called her a bitch when Marcy turned him down. Anger flared up like she never experienced before, narrowing her world down to this man and the desire to attack. His flesh and muscle tore so easily in her hands and his blood oddly did not repulse her as it hit her tongue.

There was fire and screaming all around her. All Marcy cared about was the people, and more specifically their brains. The desire for them moved her to chase after those who were fleeing. A group got stuck on the ramp and were being grabbed by others like her. Something inside helped her tell the difference. As they fell overboard or were taken down a path opened and she made her way through. One saw her and screamed before taking off; Marcy followed, snarling a threat at her retreating prey.

This one was faster than she expected but she would catch up soon: they would tire out eventually while Marcy felt she had endless reserves of energy. At last she cornered him and made a lunge for his head. He grabbed her and used her momentum to toss her over. She felt herself falling down, down, down, _crunch_.

"Oh, god. Oh, my god, I killed her." Trembling, he peered over the edge to look at her. Seeing her broken body like that made her look like a normal girl. He took in calming gulps of air and forced his body to stop shaking long enough to grab something to cover the hole. There was no way he was going to report this; no one would believe he was just protecting himself from a weird zombie-like girl. There were no witnesses and even if they found the body, there was no way they could pin it on him. Once he was sure the hole was covered he ran away, hoping to leave the horrors of this night behind him forever.

Marcy woke up in darkness. At first she had no idea where she was or how she got there, but then her mind started playing back what happened. It didn't feel real yet her nails were still bloody from where she ripped that flirty guy's arm off. She shuddered and vomited, though there was little in her stomach. _I killed someone_. She was a doctor; she was supposed to do no harm. _I killed… oh, god, I don't know how many people._ That broke her and she wept, snot dripping down her nose.

Eventually there were no more tears. Marcy forced herself together so she could take stock of her surroundings. There was no natural or artificial light yet she could see everything perfectly, not that there was much to see. It looked like the inside of a cistern or something. She placed a hand on the wall and took a walk around, finding it completely smooth. Marcy jumped but it was to far and the opening was blocked.

"Hello?" she called out. "Hello, is anyone up there? Please help me!" She kept shouting until she was hoarse but got no response.

She was trapped with no food or water and… wait, how could she have fallen down here and not gotten hurt? Marcy felt her head, her back, legs and arms, but found no breaks or tears or even much of her own blood. That shouldn't have been possible. Her mind tried grasping for an answer but she was too hungry to think.

Time was hard to gauge in her dark prison. The only way she could mark it was by her hunger, which grew progressively worse and worse. At some point Marcy tried calling for help again. After still getting no answer she gave up entirely and took to pacing around her small prison. Humans could survive longer without food than without water but to her, it felt like food was all she wanted. She didn't feel that thirsty or even tired. It was like her hunger was driving her beyond normal limitations.

Marcy paced back and forth, back and forth searching for food. It was all she cared about anymore.

Her fingers dropped from the pearl necklace. Even as she recalled all of those memories she felt them slipping away again. It felt like too much effort to hold onto them. If only she could eat she would feel like herself again. She decided to call out one last time but the only sound she made was a snarl. Desperately she tried to hold onto something that was her.

 _Marcy. I am… Marcy._ And then that, too, was gone.


	2. O Sister, Where Art Thou?

_Story Two: O Sister, Where Art Thou?_

A girl was screaming as she ran through the abandoned football field. Lurching after her were zombies wearing the tattered remains of jerseys. The girl dared a glance back. It was a fatal mistake: she tripped and toppled to her hands and knees. Her pursuers continued to lurch forward, eager for the meal. They drew closer, closer…

There was a knock at the door. Evan jumped, quickly pausing and minimizing the window. Now his computer showed a research paper just in time for his mother to poke her head in.

"Evan, you know the rules: lights out before midnight."

"Sorry, I was just finishing this research paper." He gestured to the screen. "I'll be done in a few minutes." He saw her falter a little, then she smiled and shook her head.

"No, you take your time. I'm just glad to see you're studying hard." She backed away and shut the door behind her. Evan made sure she was gone before pulling up the video again.

His mom was easy to figure out. All she really wanted was for both of her children to be the best. Liv pleased her by being insanely overachieving; Evan couldn't quite muster up that level, but he could fake it well. As long as his mom thought he was working hard, she would leave him alone.

Evan went back to watching _Zombie High_. Liv liked to call shows like this "mind popcorn": it wasn't good for you or filled you in any way, but you couldn't stop once you had a taste. He wondered what she was doing right now. Definitely not binging on _Zombie High_ , even if she was the one to pull him into the show in the first place.

He only stopped watching when his eyes got too heavy to stay open. He yawned, collapsing onto the bed without even taking off his glasses. His mom would think he worked himself to exhaustion.

It felt like only a few minutes passed when he felt someone shaking him. "Evan? Evan, wake up!" He groaned, trying to grab a pillow to pull it over his face. "Evan, I'm not kidding. Get up right _now_." There was something in his mother's voice that pulled him out of his need for more sleep. Evan sat up once he managed to focus on her face. He hadn't seen his mother look that panicked since the time he was in the hospital.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

"It's all over the news… No one's heard from her since last night. Her phone's going straight to voicemail."

"Mom, what are you talking about?"

"Your sister! No one can get a hold of her, and they're saying a lot of people died…" Evan was sure he was still half-asleep, because some of what his mother said didn't make any sense to him. He rubbed his face where his glasses left an imprint and followed her out into the hall.

The television on and turned to the news wasn't a strange sight, but his mother was giving it way more focus than usual. Evan stifled a yawn and tried to concentrate on the story. The reporter was saying how a college boat party got out of control to the point of dead bodies. Medical examiners were still working through them all. There was no official number on those dead or injured.

"This says a lot of people were hurt, Mom," he pointed out. "Liv's probably just busy at work. You know she'd have her phone off."

"No, Evan. Liv was _at the party_."

"Um… Are you sure?" As far as he knew, Liv did not go to parties. Even when she was in college she managed to find the one serious-minded sorority.

" _Yes_!" His mother wrung her hands, panic written all over her face. "Major called and told me!"

Something cold slipped down into Evan's stomach and he turned back to the television. The camera was helpfully giving a shot of the bodies lined up on the shore, but they were all not-so-helpfully in bags. Liv could be in any one of them and they wouldn't know… His sister could be dead. When was the last time he spoke to her? Was it yesterday or a few days ago? He couldn't remember. Evan felt something in his throat threatening to choke him. It didn't seem possible. No, it _couldn't_ be possible. Liv was driven to the point of mania. There was no way she would let anything get in the way of her ambitions. She was his big sister… She wasn't allowed to be gone.

"Well…" Evan swallowed around the thing in his throat. He tried to focus on logic and facts, as that was sure to calm his mother down. Both of them, really. "They'd have to call us if they found her, Mom."

"What do you mean, _if_ they found her?" she asked wildly. "You don't think she's at the bottom of the ocean, do you? Or her face is so burnt they can't identify her?" She watched way too many crime dramas. Evan shook his head helplessly.

Wanting anything else to focus on, he started gathering stuff together for breakfast. His mom usually paid someone else to cook or went out to a restaurant, but measuring ingredients and mixing them together was calming for Evan. It gave him something to control. And it was a connection to Liv: she was the one who encouraged him to learn. He quickly shoved the worry thoughts of her brought on and concentrated on cooking the pancakes evenly on both sides.

He dragged his mother away from the television. "I called the hospital and told them to let me know the minute they check her in," she told him. "Major's going to call me if he hears from her first. He feels so terrible. It was his idea that she go to the party in the first place."

"She'll be okay, Mom," Evan assured her, pushing a plate of grapefruit slices her way. "Maybe she left the party early and her phone died."

"Maybe." There was a glimmer of hope as she entertained this possibility. A glimmer that died as quickly as it came. "But Peyton says she hasn't heard from Liv, either. Why wouldn't she have come home?"

Evan didn't have an answer for her. It felt like the world was out of balance. Liv going to parties and suddenly dropping off the face of the earth, worrying her loved ones… None of it was like her at all. The wrongness of this whole situation made him uneasy.

The two of them finished their meal in silence with only the television as company. By now the news had moved on to other things, which to Evan seemed pretty unbelievable. How could any story be as important as the boat party? Eventually he got up and turned it off. His mother was clutching her cell phone tightly in both hands. He hovered behind her chair for a moment, then started cleaning up their dishes and running them through the washer. She barely noticed, so focused was she on waiting for phone calls.

Evan left her there and went back to his room. He slid his earbuds back on and clicked into _Zombie High_. He needed something mindless and stupid to drown out his worry. In a weird way, watching the zombies comforted him. It was taking him out of the reality of Liv's absence for a few more minutes.


	3. Unnatural Pathway

_Story Three: Unnatural Pathway_

He had music blaring in his ears a bit louder than he would've liked, but it was the only way he could drown out his co-worker's incessant talking. She was a decent enough worker but she was way too chatty and had no sense of personal boundaries. One bud popped out of his ear and he glanced up to see her standing over him.

"Doctor Chakrabarti, we just got a call. We're needed at Lake Washington as soon as possible."

Ravi swung his legs off the stool he was using and grabbed his bag before following her out the door. Some people might think that working as the city's medical examiner would be morbid, but not him. It was kind of like being Sherlock Holmes: taking all the evidence of a scene and piecing it together to form a complete picture. Of course the police did the actual arresting, but Ravi liked to think his medical expertise played a vital role.

The job also covered a variety of things, leaving him to hypothesize over what exactly he would see when he arrived at the lake. Working theory was a drowning victim.

When he and his assistant arrived, they were faced with a line of bodies. Ravi froze and his co-worker was uncharacteristically silent. They saw the dead come through their doors all the time, but this time there were so _many_ and so gruesomely marred. There were actual chunks of flesh missing. Ravi heard his co-worker throwing up but he ignored her and moved to the first body with the hopeful assumption that everything was left just as first responders found it.

The body was face down, the position suggesting the person was thrown off the boat. Ravi carefully pulled on his gloves and some tools to start his initial examination. No surprise to find the clothes wet, but he noted there were singed edges from a fire. Maybe the person _jumped_ off to extinguish the fire. He would need to do X-rays of the bones to be certain. He lifted one of the body's hands and found sand underneath the nails; the same was true for the other hand. So the person jumped or was thrown off the boat, broke one of their legs and started clawing their way through the sand.

"Doctor Chakrabarti?" He tore his eyes away from the body to focus on the paramedic hovering over him. "We've double-checked all the bodies down here so they should be for you, but give us more time farther along."

"You mean you're still finding survivors?" Ravi asked in amazement.

"We're making sure. One paramedic already accidentally bagged a survivor." That caused Ravi's eyebrows to shoot up. How on earth could trained paramedics make a mistake like that? Even if it was their first day on the job, a supervisor should've been close by to immediately catch the error. "Anyway," the paramedic resumed, "I just wanted to pass along the message."

"I appreciate it." Ravi turned back to the body he was examining. Where did he leave off…? Oh, yes.

He carefully picked up the victim's head and turned it to get a look at the face. Male, estimated between nineteen and twenty-five years old. Consistent with the briefing he got that this was a college party gone wrong. There was a large skull fracture running along the male's hairline. Done post-mortem, and judging by the pattern, looked like someone purposefully cracked this poor man's head open. Murder? Ravi went back to the "thrown from boat" idea.

Eventually he had to back off so the police could have forensics gather up all the evidence they could. Ravi tried to brofist a few of his fellow scientists but none of them responded well to his gesture. What he wouldn't give to have someone he could actually _bond_ with on the job. And not in the incredibly invasive way his co-worker wanted.

Thinking of his co-worker made him realize he didn't see her around. He lost track of her after she started vomiting in the bushes. Oh, well. They'd meet back up at the morgue, where they would have plenty to do.

Several hours and bodies later, and Ravi was starting to notice a very bizarre pattern. All of the victims suffered varying levels of trauma. Some, like the first he examined, sustained injuries consistent with a fall from the boat to the shore. Some were burned and others still had torn muscles and deep scratches. Many of them had chunks ripped out of their necks, shoulders, sides and legs. Nearly all of them had some sort of head injury, inflicted either post-mortem or acting as cause of death.

"This one is missing brain matter, too," he realized out loud, taking the brain off the scale.

"Aquatic life went after it," his co-worker said dismissively. She finished the paperwork on their latest body and slid it away. It was thankfully easy to identify most of these bodies due to their teeth being intact. Still, calling in family members was going to be extremely unpleasant.

" _Aquatic_ life?" Ravi snorted. "You've got to be joking. No fish or crab goes after the brain like this. And what about all the post-mortem head injuries? Someone deliberately smashed those heads open. For what purpose?"

"There _was_ no purpose. Those college kids lost their minds. They were all on some new weird drug that made them go crazy and start ripping each other apart."

"That can't be it," Ravi argued. He pulled up the X-rays they took on one of the bodies. "Look at the way the bone is displaced. Look at the body and see how the muscle was torn. These are injuries found on a former linebacker! It would take an incredible amount of strength to create these injuries. If drugs are involved, it did more than cause partiers to go mad."

"Not this again," his co-worker complained. "Isn't this why they fired you from the CDC?" He pressed his lips together and snorted. Yes, he warned his former employers about chemical warfare, and they reacted by canning him and claiming him to be a mad conspiracy theorist. But everything he was seeing in these bodies told him that he was right: there existed chemicals that could change a person so radically they gained inhuman strength and…

Missing brains. Cracking skulls open.

"What if these new drugs didn't just make people go mad?" he proposed. "What if it changed their physiology?"

"Like a zombie?" She phrased it as if it was ridiculous, but Ravi quickly jumped on it.

"Yes! Exactly like a zombie! It would explain why nearly every victim we've examined has a head injury and why they're missing parts of their brain."

"What explains that in the _real world_ is a drug-crazed person inflicting the injury, and fish going in to eat the brains later. You need to get your head out of video games and comic books, doctor."

She turned back to her work, ending the discussion. Ravi was stunned. As a scientist, there was no way she could possibly be accepting of this ridiculous fish theory. There was no scientific basis for it! Granted there was no scientific basis for zombies, either, but Ravi was honestly finding it difficult to come up with other explanations.

He couldn't let go of the theory, either. He swabbed the cracked skulls hoping for saliva samples, checked the scratches for evidence of human nails or ring grooves, compared the weight of every single brain to see how much was missing from each person. Many of them had the crazy-making drug in their system, but not all of them: some of them just had alcohol or other more easily recognized drugs. No matter what angle he looked at it from, Ravi kept coming back to zombies.

"You're out of your mind," his co-worker declared. "You don't even live on this planet if you seriously believe the boat massacre was a zombie outbreak. And I'm not letting you ruin my career by taking me down with you."

It took Ravi a moment to process what she was saying. "You're quitting?"

"You're talking about zombies being real. Of course I'm quitting! Just give me a few hours to gather up my things."

Ravi didn't know what to say. She honestly wasn't his favorite person, but she was good at her job. It would be a shame to lose her. _But what if? What if I'm right?_


	4. Problem Unsolved

_Story Four: Problem Unsolved_

The newspapers already gave the incident a memorable name: the Boat Party Massacre. Most of the time the newspapers exaggerated tragic events for the sake of sensationalism. Especially in this age where information was quicker, easier and cheaper to get in digital form, the papers pulled out all the stops in order to sell. The unfortunate thing was that in this case, they didn't have to try at all.

Clive saw the crime scene photographs; he watched the survivors curl into themselves and mumble out responses to questions. There was no other word to describe all of that except "massacre".

He watched another survivor being escorted out of the interview room. This one was a young woman, her expression haunted. The cop taking her out kept close while still trying to respect her personal bubble. Anyone who got closer than that made her flinch. While working in Vice, Clive unfortunately saw a lot of victims with that kind of behavior: the ones who were forced to witness their loved ones overdose or get lost in drug-induced rages. It made him sick seeing that again.

"Hey," he called to the cop once she was back in the arms of loved ones. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"I don't know, detective. I hope so, but… One of the survivors has already checked himself into a mental institution."

"Damn," Clive breathed, rubbing his hands over his face. "What the hell _happened_ out there?"

"All the survivors so far just say it was people going crazy and killing each other." The cop gave a helpless shrug and went out to get his next witness.

Yeah, Clive knew all about what people were saying. Honestly, it didn't add up in his mind. In his training as a cop, he knew there were people who could turn on a dime and start killing. Now that he was in homicide, he knew to look for any motivation that would lead to murder. But saying so many went crazy in one night didn't make any sense.

He decided to stop in on his old office and see what Vice was making of the whole thing. After all, a lot of the survivors admitted there were drugs being sold and passed around at the party. If he was still a part of Vice, Clive would've already been taking that information and running with it. His old partner spotted him and gave him a weary look, though of course she wasn't all that surprised.

"Did you get lost? Homicide is the other direction."

"The Boat Party Massacre. You guys got any leads?"

"On the drug they were selling? Guess it won't hurt to tell you, since it'll be all over the papers soon." She shifted some papers around on her desk. "They're calling it utopium. Guess it makes you feel like you're in paradise." Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile. Clive was itching to push for more information, but knew that she wasn't going to tell him.

He honestly didn't miss Vice for a single day. The lies, the secrets, going off the grid and being unable to contact loved ones, the reshaping of your identity to go deep undercover… That last one was the worst part. Back then Clive had to look in the mirror and remind himself who he really was. There was nothing worse than going against who you were, even if it was for good reasons.

He left to go back to his own office, though there wasn't anything to be done over there. With an illegal drug in the mix, this case was officially one for Vice. There were plenty of other deaths to look into… not that Homicide was sliding anything across his desk yet. He was still on "probation", not allowed to do any actual cases until they decided the stench of Vice was off him.

But even though the case was going to Vice, Clive still found himself reading through everything discovered so far. The forensic evidence found at the scene, the statements gathered by the survivors, the list of both living and dead so far, the photographs of the aftermath… He wasn't sure what he was hoping to see in all of it. His cop instincts were just probing him, and he never ignored his cop instincts.

After looking through everything, though, the only thing Clive discovered was just how senseless the massacre was. There was no pattern between the living and the dead, or even _how_ they died. Utopium was a common factor, but oddly enough so was the energy drink Max Rager. What was the connection there?

"Is anyone looking into this Max Rager connection?" he asked another detective. He thumbed through the files just to be sure. "They sponsored the boat party." The detective gave him an incredulous look.

"Babineaux, it's a simple case of illegal drugs gone wrong." But it didn't feel simple. A major energy drink company sponsoring a college boat party that then turned into a bloody massacre… There was something more to all of this, he could feel it.

"Maybe I could-"

"Seriously, Babineaux, it's not our case." He could already tell he wasn't going to be well-liked in this department. Clive sighed, getting out of the office to get some air.

"Excuse me." He was grabbed by someone. Turning, he saw himself faced with a frantic woman. "Is this where all the survivors of the massacre are being taken?"

"Yes, ma'am, but if you're looking for a loved one, you need to speak with Missing Persons. Hang on, I know one of the guys in that department. I'll give you his direct number." Clive hurried back to his desk and jotted down a name and number, handing it over to the woman.

"Thank you." She clung onto the number so tightly her fingertips turned white. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. I hope you find them."

Moments like that were why he loved being a cop. In Vice there was always the satisfaction of taking the bad guy down, but it was never a satisfying victory. It was more like pulling weeds: hard and dirty work, with the tired resignation that another weed was going to pop back up anyway. It was going to be different here.

They were trying to drill into him that _if there's no body, it's not my problem_. But there were tons of bodies and it still wasn't supposed to be his problem. It felt wrong to him. But the case belonged to Vice… he had to let it go.

Later when he was putting the file away, Clive glanced at the photographs one last time. He wished he could shake the uneasy feeling he got looking at them. He stuffed them into the file. _Not my problem,_ he told himself firmly. Even if a part of him wanted it to be.


	5. Montage of Heck

_Story Five: Montage of Heck_

Naturally the first thing Blaine did when he heard the party was on a boat was look around for the captain's quarters. He ended up being disappointed, but at least he could stand at the helm for a bit. He gave the wheel a good yank but it was locked in place to keep party-goers from having a joyride. Too bad.

Their product was stashed in this room. Blaine took it out now to divide what he expected to sell and what Scott E would handle. The twins had tinkered a bit with the recipe on the sly. Those two were pretty ballsy to try something like that and Blaine had to admire them for it. Curious, Blaine took one of the small tubes. They weren't really supposed to sample the merchandise but with the asking price, they could afford it.

One was enough to make him trip all the way to Oregon. He could feel the thumping bass from the party calling to him. Blaine grabbed a handful of utopium and shoved it in his jacket pocket before heading out.

Everything was in full swing and thanks to Scott E's earlier sales, people were already buzzing from utopium. All Blaine had to do was flash the little tube at them and they were practically throwing their money at him. At any other time these easy pickings would've disappointed him, but his drugged mind was enjoying itself. His focus wasn't even entirely on selling the product at the highest price.

He got in a group playing a drinking game, except instead of alcohol they were using Max Rager. Not Blaine's drink of choice but what the hell. They were at a party, right? Within just a few drinks he sold utopium to every person in the group. It dissolved into them all theorizing over past lives. Blaine insisted that he was a samurai or maybe a double-agent for some secret organization.

Almost everyone wanted the utopium. He did get someone who responded with less than enthusiasm but Blaine was so convinced of his charm that he was sure a little flirting would ease her into it. Her response was about as opposite of what he expected as possible. Rage flashed in him suddenly and he lost track of things.

He remembered that face, though, and when he saw her sprinting past him he made a grab for her. She got away but Blaine made sure she wouldn't forget him.

How he got on the beach he had no idea. He was dry, though, so he must've jumped off the boat. The boat was burning behind him and around him were dead or dying, he didn't want to stick around to learn which.

On second thought, Blaine took out his phone and dropped it in the water.

Weirdly enough, Blaine was no longer on the buzz from either the utopium or Max Rager, but he wasn't crashing, either. The utopium… oh, shit! His hand dove into his pocket and found some still there. He hated the financial loss but he had to dump that in the ocean, too. Once that was done he started checking the bodies for signs of Scott E. None were him but a lot of them were Blaine's customers. One way or another, word was going to get out about utopium. Boss certainly couldn't complain about that.

Something about looking at those dead bodies made Blaine hungry. Especially the ones whose heads were cut. The sensation was as unexpected as that weird mood change. Blaine touched one of the bodies and had a desire to grab a rock and crack the skull open. What the hell was that about? Maybe he was still tripping, after all. Blaine backed away even though every part of his body was urging him on.

He found a place that was still open. Better yet, it wasn't one of his usual hangouts so no one would recognize him. The food looked and smelled good enough but the moment his tongue touched it, he was disappointed. No flavor at all. Complaining would leave a memorable impression so he ate the bland meal grudgingly. But when he was done all the effort went to waste: he didn't feel any less hungry. If anything, being close to the kitchen staff made him hungrier. He eyed the corners of the countertops…

Killing would be a stupid move now. Why did he keep thinking about it?

The hunger only grew worse. His prey had fallen down. He was running toward the man, eyes red, ready to pounce. Blaine would have, too, if the police sirens hadn't pulled him back.

Blaine sat with his back against the gravestone and took another bite. He'd have to get some new clothes soon: yellow wasn't exactly stealthy. For now he was just glad the hunger had subsided and he could think again. He glanced down at the mess in his hand.

"Yep," he said out loud. "Still eating a human brain." Confirming it out loud didn't make it any less weird or disgusting. Eating it was a lot like when he ate calamari: a lot of chewing and while he was satisfied, he found little pleasure in it. Blaine wasn't sure if even a professional chef could make this good.

When Blaine agreed to work the boat party, he was expecting easy sales. Sitting in a graveyard eating a brain he got from a body he dug up was not even close to how he pictured this night ending. He turned his head and watched as light started to cut through the shadows. Slowly a smile touched his lips and Blaine sang:

"Here comes the sun and I said: it's all right."


	6. Not Like the Brother

_Story Six: One of These Things is Not Like the Brother_

It wasn't like him to worry, but they had a system and for the first time his brother wasn't following it. The only reason he wasn't there himself was because it wasn't his turn. Not everyone knew there were even two of them and they liked to take advantage of it, balancing out the workload. Last time was his turn, which made this one go to Scott. Don was a little grumpy about it once he heard the details, but he knew Scott would share the rewards. This wasn't even the first time they were in a dangerous situation. Hell, being in danger was practically synonymous with their line of work. But they could always get a beer afterward and laugh it off.

Not this time.

Don hadn't heard from his brother all morning. His cell phone was taking several rings before rolling to voice mail, so it wasn't dead. Finally, he got fed up and went over to Scott's place. The curtains being drawn didn't stop him from pounding at the door or yelling. One corner of the curtain slowly lifted to reveal his brother's anxious face. The curtain snapped closed again and Scott opened the door.

"Get in! Hurry!" _Oh, hell…_ Don entered, watching as his brother shut the door and locked it after him. It was supposed to be a simple job—so simple a monkey could probably do it. So why was his brother freaking out like it was his first time? Did he really want to know the answer?

"Scott, what the hell happened last night?"

"I saw something. The people—I think it was the drugs." There was no question which of them got the brains but sometimes Scott still said some pretty stupid shit.

"That was kind of the point, man."

"No. Their eyes were red and they were tearing people apart. I saw one of them next to a human body and they were _eating_ it." Scott paused, his eyes going unfocused for a minute. Don tried very hard to repress a frustrated sigh. He thought something went wrong with the job; so far, the only thing going wrong was his brother. They were _professionals_. There was a quick glance over the shoulder, then Scott leaned in and whispered: "I think it might've followed me."

Was this a joke? It had to be a joke, or for whatever reason his brother was faking it. Not that he ever expected Scott to be much of an actor, but damn. He should've been in theater; he almost had Don believing it. Maybe voicing just how stupid this sounded would cut the crap.

"You think a cannibal followed you?"

"Not a cannibal. A _zombie_. Thing was eating brain, I'm sure of it." Scott's head did a quick snap over his shoulder again and he retreated farther into the room. "There! I heard it snarling at the door!"

Don officially had no idea what was happening. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to hold back the headache. No matter how messy jobs got in the past, both could keep a relatively cool head. Don went through every possibility that would cause this but none added up.

"Please don't tell me you and Blaine lost the money or something."

"Blaine's _dead_ , man," Scott said, eyes widening to punctuate this revelation. "I saw him get mobbed by the zombies." Don would've questioned what his brother was on if he didn't already know what Scott on drugs was like. This was… he had no idea what the hell it was, only that it was getting stranger by the minute. Don made one final attempt to focus back on reality.

"So, did you make any money or should I start digging our graves now?" To his great relief, Scott answered the question by producing an impressive wad of cash. Don might not know what to do with Scott's ramblings but that wad of cash was a comforting familiarity. At least they weren't royally screwed.

Whatever was going on with Scott would just be dealt with another day. Don needed to get this cash to Boss. He gave his brother one last glance. Scott was very on edge and wouldn't stop muttering about the red-eyed zombies. Don didn't know what could've made his brother snap like that. Maybe he didn't really want to know.


	7. Do No Harm

_Story Seven: Do No Harm_

I finally let myself break down and cry. Okay, "sobbing" was a more appropriate word for it. It got so bad that snot started coming out of my nose. Gross, but no one was around to see. Once I couldn't get any more tears to come I wiped my face and got to my feet. I could still feel the sorrow weighing me down and a big part of me just wanted to curl up again, but something else was urging me to move forward.

I wish I could say that it was thoughts of my family, Peyton and Major motivating me, but that'd be a lie. I actually wanted to avoid them for as long as possible. The last thing I needed was to see looks of horror on their faces, even if the horror wasn't directed at me. Sticking around here was an even worse idea, though, so I had to move.

I definitely wasn't going to stick around for news reporters or EMTs. I was probably lucky that none of them had come over yet after they realized I was alive. Maybe me popping out of the body bag still freaked them out. Hell, it was still freaking _me_ out, though it was pretty low on the scale compared to other things.

Breathe, Liv. Go over the facts.

My hair and clothes are wet from when I fell into the ocean. I have long scratches on my arm made by a man who tried to sell me some weird drug called utopium. I have a streak of white in my hair; it's possible your hair can lose pigmentation after you experience a traumatic event. I'd say being on a boat where people were ripping each other apart qualifies as traumatic.

Oh, and I ate a human brain. Can't forget about that one. Literally. Believe me, I want to forget.

After popping up and scaring the poor guy trying to bag me up, I was starving. Something smelled really good and my stomach clenched from the want of it. I staggered to my feet and shuffled on the sand to try finding the source of that tantalizing smell. Everything else in me told me that what I found was horrifying, but my stomach told me it was food.

 _No_. I wanted to refuse. I wanted to walk away and show some respect for the dead. But I didn't. I got down on my knees and pressed my face against the open cranium. I don't want to describe what it smelled or tasted like. At the time, I didn't care. All I wanted was to get it into my mouth. If anyone saw me chowing down on a dead man's brains with blood smeared all over my face, I didn't care about that, either.

I feel disgusted and horrified at myself but my body won't expel what I've done. What I've eaten is fuel and I can feel it energizing me, clearing my thoughts. Unfortunately those clear thoughts hit me with the full impact of what's happened to me.

I want to go on record here and say that while I've seen zombie movies and watched episodes of _Zombie High_ with my brother, I was never a huge fan of them. To me they were just dead bodies walking around which, as a woman wanting to be a doctor, didn't strike me as all that terrifying. But now I finally understand that it's not the fear of the monster that makes zombies so horrifying, it's _being_ the monster.

That's what I am now. I'm the monster.


End file.
